Headlong Flight
by GoG ToXiC
Summary: All the highlights of my headlong flight, Holding on with all my might, I felt it all again. I learned to fight, I learned to love, I learned to feel... And I'd do it all again. A tale of loss, recovery, and redemption, brought about by circumstances stranger than fiction. This is the story of my life, and the second chance that followed. A Revision of "My Life For A Smile."


_This is a revision of my previous story, "My Life For A Smile." Yes, that was a play on the Rush song of the same name in the summary._

* * *

The moon shone brightly, oddly so one might even say, it's silken rays beating down upon the riverbanks below. The gentle undulations of the gentle current below flared brightly as they absorbed the nocturnal lights. It was a peaceful place, this natural cliffside, nothing but the gentle thrum of a distant waterfall and the reassuring sounds of the local wilderness nightlife to impede upon the peaceful serenity. It was a miracle this place existed, so near to my home city, yet so untouched by the effects of urbanization. Maybe it was a sign for the future, a reassurance of the continuing future of mankind and its homeworld.

Trees swayed softly in the nighttime breezes, buffeted ever so slightly by the curtains of air rolling in off the coast, the occasional leaf fluttering down from the canopy. The woodland undergrowth rustled as nocturnal rodents scampered for food underneath their shelter. I thought I even caught the distinct splash of a salmon leaping for freedom. The whole landscape, lit so softly by the rising moon, was a picture more majestic than even the most intricate canvas portrait.

Of course, none of this mattered to me. No longer could I gaze upon this picture of serenity. That capability was gone now, yanked my grasp from the same thing that stole all my other dreams away. That one event, so seemingly insignificant, that ripped my life apart.

It had started off simply, the same routine check-up I went through every year. The doctors brought me in, poked me a few times, smiled, and said I was fine. I stepped out the revolving doors and went on with my life as I always did. At least, that was the intention. They called me back a few days later, claiming that there was something they wanted to recheck.

"Nothing major!" the man on the phone had insisted. "Doctor Michaels just made a slight recording error is all. We just need to make sure the right information is on record."

It hadn't phased me. I mean, they've done this sort of thing before, with check ups. The place had a great staff, lot's of really nice people, but they lacked more than a little in the organization department. I went back in, they checked a few things, and I walked right back out fifteen minutes later. One of the nurses even gave me an emergency contact number as compensation, in case I ever found I needed help that "medicine couldn't provide." The wink that followed, and the bounce in her step when I accepted, left me with no illusions in regards to what help she might provide. It's actually a pretty common occurrence around me. Let a girl know you fly fighter jets for a living and add in the results of the militaries physical training strategies, and well... It turns out there's a lot of appeal there. I never did use any of those numbers... My jet was my life; I had no room for anyone else.

The next few months passed swiftly, each day passing as uneventfully as the last. No wars were started, no rebellions set aflame... Hell, even acts of terrorism were on the decline. Then, the second call came in. It was the same guy from before, and the speech was no different. Of course, I saw right through it. It doesn't take months to spot a recording error, and I knew the man personally. He was a terrible liar. Something was wrong, that I definitely knew. But if I had known just how wrong... I might never have gone back at all.

I stepped through the rotating glass and they tossed me right into the standard routine. They did a little more poking, a little more prodding, and treated it like any other examination. I had almost begun to think I was paranoid, that there really was nothing wrong... That the man on the phone was just dealing with some problems at home or something. I'd continue with my life like I always had, and things would be good. That belief was promptly filled with bullets and set ablaze when _he_ walked in. _He _was the head of the office, the main doctor, and he only showed up when things were bad.

I have to hand it to the guy; when I asked him to give it to me straight, he did. He didn't dance around the issue, or try to break it to me easy... He just flat out told me the truth. My optic nerves were rapidly decaying, he explained, and I had about two months left until I experienced very sudden and very complete blindness. Most would gasp, panic for a few moments, but then realize that it could have been worse. My life wasn't at stake, and I could've continued to live my life as I had before, albeit with few more handicaps. Unfortunately, I wasn't like most. I flew supersonic military grade jets for the Canadian Air Force, an occupation that required nothing less than perfect vision, and this wasn't an ailment that could be fixed by lasers. For me, this news was life shattering.

The military, of course, was quite understanding. They pinned a few medals on my chest, and gave me a desk job... I got a decent pay raise too. They even waited until I was completely blind before bestowing upon me the honourable discharge I dreaded. I get enough money from the government that I could get an easy job and live the rest of my life in simple comfort. I'm sure there'd be plenty of girls eager to go out with an ex-military, so my life certainly wouldn't be lacking in that regard. But that didn't matter to me.

For many years, originating all the way back during my high school years, my dream of flying had been the only thing I lived for. It still was when they cut me loose. When my visual deficiency was revealed to the world, my wings were clipped and I lost the one thing I loved. Perhaps it would've been better if the sickness had taken my life outright, just killed me on the spot.

It didn't matter now, I suppose. I wasn't here on a whim.

Many years ago, when I was still a child, I had come here on my bike to just gaze up at the night. I could spend hours just gazing at the stars and dreaming of different futures, different realities... I had been one of many coping mechanisms for a once crushing depression. Stargazing, stories, games... that one TV show... eventually they had brought me back up from my pit, and set me back on track with my life. They were lost to me now though, as lost as the steel wings that once carried me through the sky. It left me with one solution.

Carefully, I felt for the rocky edge with my foot, leaning out over the river. A small part of me was nervous, terrified even, but I shoved it to the bottom of my whirlwind of emotion. I couldn't question myself now... This was the right solution, the only cure. With a slight shifting of my feet, I took my remedy and fell forward.

I contemplated things as I fell, spiritual things. I'd never been one to believe in god, but as I fell through the night sky, approaching ever closer to oblivion, I hoped with all my being that there was some place after this. Some place where I could fly again...

Who know? Maybe I could even have wings of my own.

* * *

_So that's that I suppose. Expect updates every Monday onwards. _

_Oh, and be sure to tell me what you think. Criticism is a rare gift, and always appreciated._


End file.
